


Channel Surfin'

by doctorpluto



Category: Furry (Fandom), Original Work
Genre: Cartoon Physics, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, F/M, Latex, Loss of Identity, Mind Control, Shameless Smut, Slime, Surreal, Transformation, goo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 12:02:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10244990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorpluto/pseuds/doctorpluto
Summary: A commission for a good buddy. A hapless young guy ends up having his TV viewing interrupted by a very "Interesting" show





	

Phil leaned back on the couch, sipping lazily on a can of orange soda as he flipped through the channels. Sure, it was 1:00 AM on a Saturday but there had to be something good on somewhere. He clicked through the channels again and again, how could so many channels have so little on? He saw a rerun of a cheesy sitcom, an infomercial extolling the virtues of spray-on latex gloves, and a few dozen Spanish-language soap operas. Phil sighed, his shaggy black hair flattened against the arm of the couch he was using as a headrest. The young man was just about to call it a night when he hit a channel he never even knew he had. It was just a black screen for a while, with a channel number of 0000 and no information in the guide.

At first, Phil thought his TV was glitching out, then he realized the black was moving, rippling like water. He turned the lights back in the den and the black inky stuff behind the screen shimmered like a moonlit ocean. His curiosity won out over his better judgement, Phil sat up and shuffled over to the TV in his sock feet, the bluish light of the TV glowing in his fair-skinned face.

Then a white, four-fingered hand slammed against the glass from the inside, sending waves through the inky black inside the TV set. Phil cursed as he fell backwards clutching his chest, his heart pounded in his chest as he sat there on his ass, watching the undulating black. And he waited for something to happen… and he waited.

Then, when his nerves had just about settled, the hand thrust once more against the screen, hitting the glass with a sharp slap, then the other hand struck and forced the glass screen forward like it was nothing more that plastic film. Phil cried out, yelling and crawling back from the TV as the screen was pushed further outward, the malleable film stretched taut against the hands and the surging blackness with a strained crrreak.

Up until that moment, Phil considered himself a rational, skeptical sort. He knew what he was seeing was impossible but knowing something was impossible wasn’t any comfort now that he was seeing it happen. He was stone cold sober, he hadn’t even smoked pot in a month. He wanted it to be a hallucination but when the hands pushed forward again, tearing the thin screen in long holes leaking the black ink onto his linoleum floor in slick puddles. And when he heard the sharp pop and saw the screen rip open, he ran. The world around him was in slow motion to him for that moment, the tidal wave of jet-black shiny something racing towards him faster than his legs could ever run.

The next instant, it hit him. With the force of a pressure hose, it threw Phil to the floor and swept over him, cold but not unpleasantly so, like lukewarm bathwater. Then, as it settled over his skin, its texture changed. In just seconds Phil could feel it go from runny ink soaking his t-shirt and sweatpants to a thick layer of warm, sticky sludge, like he had just fallen into a tar pit. He tried to sit up, only for his arms and torso to strain against the shiny, viscous ink, stretching it out in long thick ropes only for it to snap back and throw him right back down onto the floor. It was all over, he kicked and thrashed and the stuff held fast, the stuff squeaked and groaned loudly as it stretched beneath his legs, his clothing full of holes as the stuff ate away at it. Whatever this was, and whatever it wanted with him, it wanted him naked. It was on his face, Phil tried to scream for help but the stuff flowed over his mouth, the long gloppy strands forcing his mouth shut. 

And Phil struggled on, pushing and pulling everywhere around him, writhing about like a landed fish. Finally, he broke through the shiny, rubbery blackness with a sticky wet scchlop and felt around, his hand reaching around with his one, two, three four fingers.  
“Four fingers?!” Phil felt that overbearing sense of wrongness again. He grabbed at the liquid latex, or what he assumed was liquid latex on his face and ripped it off like a mask. Each of the thick strands snapped like chewed gum being pried off pavement and finally he could see his hand… his gloved white hand.

It took him a moment for it to sink in. He turned the hand over, flexed the three chubby fingers, the thumb. It wasn’t a human hand. The white glove didn’t look quite right in the light. Phil looked at the wrist attached to the gloved hand… gray skin, he now had perfectly smooth gray skin. From how it looked in the light, it looked flat, even though he knew it was anything but. A thin wrist, a chunky but dexterous hand… then Phil realized that his eyes were looking down over something on his face and so his curious hand traced along his face finding a pointed, sloping snout, two nostril slits. As his finger ran down the front of the snout towards where he felt his mouth should be, his skin made a loud squeeeeaaak like skin against a rubber raft.

Then, when Phil found his mouth, he dipped what he was sure were his index and middle fingers past his now-thin lips and felt a mouthful of sharp points. He felt a draft over his scalp and over a raised ridge starting just past the top of his head. His hand explored that next, a bald scalp, sloping forehead, and a dorsal fin. And when the former young man added this up in his head, he wished for a second he was just having a bad acid trip. “Hell…” He muttered as he made a move for the bathroom, he needed a mirror… he needed to know what happened… what had he become? And with his first step, the black much tugged back. He tried to yank himself forward but he snapped right back. It was even kind of hard to tell where his body ended and the latex or ink or whatever-the-hell began.

“It’s rude to walk away when you got company, sharktits!” said a voice behind Phil, and the former human turned to face in the direction of the voice as much as his glued body could manage. There, he saw what he could only describe as a cartoon rabbit person, a thin black set of with a round torso, with a smug grin on his white face. His ears ended in rounded points and he wore the same bulky white gloves he had. He adjusted his grey bow tie, the only part of him that wasn’t pure midnight black or stark white, and walked over the sticky muck like it was nothing.

“Did I drop in at a bad time, doll? You look like you’re in…” He dipped his finger into the ink on Phil’s chest and pulled back, a long string of the shiny sludge trailing from his finger to Phil’s ballooning chest before falling to the floor with a wet plop, “... a sticky situation!” The cartoon rabbit laughed obnoxiously loud at his own joke and Phil wondered if he could get away with just decking him in his buck teeth… then Phil became aware of the two round swellings expanding from his chest with a sound like water running into a plastic jug. His lapine guest’s big, round eyes widened at the sight and grabbed at the rubbery black ink over Phil’s chest, tearing it away like tissue paper. Then Phil felt his breasts bob free, feeling a bit of relief for a second before what just happened dawned on him. He looked down and let out a girlish yelp. 

“Why do I got tits?!” He cried out, then immediately slapped his gloved hand over his wide mouth. His voice was higher, much higher in pitch. Not only did he have a pair of perky breasts, and big ones at that, but his voice was unmistakably feminine which meant…

“Yer my girl, ya silly broad!” The rabbit said, squeezing one of Phil’s breasts and chuckling at the unmistakable honk honk sound they made. “I’m Inky by the way, how about we go steady?”

“How about you get outta my house you f-” Phil said, before being interrupted by Inky grabbing a corner of his mouth and quite literally zipping it shut. The rabbit grabbed Phil’s stuck arm and pulled it free of the muck with a loud wet pop before kissing the back of her gloved hand. “That’s no way to talk to your boyfriend, sharky,” Inky scolded with a teasing lilt to his voice. “C’mon, lemme show you what I mean…” and so the rabbit, despite his skinny little arms, grabbed Phil and ripped him out of the muck he was so helplessly trapped in like it was nothing, the goo falling off of Phil’s changed body in thick semi-solid chunks. 

He carried Phil into his bedroom like the former human weighed nothing and sat him in front of the mirror and what Phil saw made him wish this was just a particularly fucked up dream he was having. There, gazing back into his big, round eyes. Was an image of a cartoon shark woman. Phil was no longer even sort of human, with her shark snout, her dorsal fin on her head, her long finned tail, and of course the tits tightly constricted by a dark gray blouse with short puffy sleeves and a little bow around the collar. Her legs, every bit as thin as her rubber-hose arms were dressed in a pair of old-timey bloomers, or granny panties as Phil called them when he wasn’t wearing them, when he was a guy.

The baleful shark girl screamed into her zipped lips and Inky just laughed. It wasn’t a malicious laugh, but rather a mirthful, legitimately amused guffaw, and that somehow made it even worse for the former human. “Yeah I getcha, I think you’re too skinny also!” 

The rabbit unzipped Phil’s mouth and all the shark girl could manage to say was a startled “What?!” before Inky shoved his arm in her mouth, the other arm stretching around her body, binding her arms to her sides. The cartoon rabbit’s arm began to drip and undulate as it pumped load after load of the same viscous black gunk that had changed her into the thing she saw being force fed in the mirror. After choking down the first few throatfuls of the greasy sludge, she found that it was easier if he just relaxed her throat and let Inky pump the stuff into her, it didn’t help the disgusting paint-fume taste of the stuff but it was relief all the same. Phil wiggled in Inky’s grip, every drop of the stuff that he pumped into her made her belly and chest swell out a bit more, and a murky haze settled over her mind. “Now just relax, doll. Just repeat after me: All smiles from now on. Okay?”

She muffled the phrase out, black ink dribbling down her snout. Sure, she felt stupid for obeying her captor’s demand so quickly, but as she struggled to say it, the rabbit’s voice echoed in her head like a mantra with every word he said. All smiles, just let it happen… You look better this way… You’re gonna have so much fun… Not boring anymore… So much fun, all smiles... Nothing but smiles forever.

Soon, she was giggling as her belly filled out more and more, rippling and sloshing like a water balloon. Her insides tickled, her head tickled, everything around her felt warm and fluffy and gooey. Everything was all sticky upstairs for her, memories coming and going so fast she didn’t know what was her old life and what was more of the gunk changing her for her beau’s liking. Ideas such as seriousness, colors other than black and white, and the physics and mechanics of her old life became more and more vague, until she found herself unable to even conceptualize them as anything other than boring abstracts. The only thing that made more sense than ever was that her dear Inky bunny wanted her to be a very silly girl.

When she finally had plumped up enough for Inky’s liking, he took his hand out of her mouth with a wet schlluck and let her fall backwards onto the bed, the mattress springs creaking in protest at her newly acquired girth.

“Yer name’s Sandy, got it? Sandy the Shark!” He said flopping down on top of her bloated tummy, sending her smooth skin rippling beneath his weight. “Sandy… “ the toony shark thought, “That’s a much better name fo’ me than…” her old name had escaped her, having long since been forgotten, but she was pretty sure it started with a ‘J’ whatever it was.

“Hey!” She giggled, ink still dribbling from her mouth. “Dat’s allit… allitter… It’s got the same letters an’ stuff!”

“I know it, ain’t I clever?” Inky teased, dipping his fingers into the waistband of Sandy’s bloomers. 

“Yer so smart an’ stuff Inky. I love ya more than anythin’ in da-aaaaAAAA” Sandy yelped as her already disorderly thoughts were interrupted by her bunny boyfriend plunging his hand into her moist, puffy snatch. As he gently massaged her womanhood, her toes curled and she panted and moaned his name over and over, with her tongue lolling out the side of her cavernous shark mouth.

“No talkin’, only smiles fo’ tonight,” Inky said in a passionate whisper. And before the ditzy shark could ask what he meant, he undid a previously-unseen zipped on his crotch and his throbbing foot-long hard-on slid out. Sandy’s jaw dropped as she kept her eyes locked hungrily on the toon rabbit’s cock as he lined himself up with her needy slit. “Ah gosh!” Sandy thought to herself, “An’ on da first date too!” Then Inky grabbed her hips and slammed his full length into her. She arched her back in reflex, stars dancing in her vision. And as the rabbit thrust in and out of her in a brisk, pounding rhythm, Sandy’s expression was of pure dumb bliss. 

Her big eyes rolled back, tongue hanging out. With every pumping motion of his hips against hers, Sandy’s belly and tits jiggled and bounced, and every jelly-like ripple of her body made it all the more pleasurable to the sharkgirl. She was a tubby chubster and Inky loved her that way, gosh did it feel good to be appreciated for her looks! Inky lifted her legs up and jackhammered into her even harder and faster, his balls slapping against her puffy mound as her belly sloshed around. Then, Inky’s body seized up, he let out a shrill cry and then popped his member out of Sandy just in time to blast a load of creamy, hot spunk all over her husky gut as she came messily herself.

The bunny collapsed on his sharky slut and she held him in her arms. Both of them were exhausted but enjoying the afterglow amidst the smell of fresh india ink and sex. “Ya wanna…” Inky panted, nuzzling into Sandy’s ample chest, “...Ya wanna get somthin’ to eat after this?”

“Oh yeah!” Sandy said with a demure giggle, “I could go fer some fish! An’ maybe a jug o’ wine!”

“You got it, chubby.” Inky said, “Let me catch my breath first, you wore your poor bunny out.” He said, and Sandy chuckled, feeling more than a little proud of herself.

“You and me, babe…” The sharkgirl said, sighing happily. “We gonna paint dis town black an’ white.”


End file.
